


Crescendo

by tenscupcake



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Asexual Character, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 04:06:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tenscupcake/pseuds/tenscupcake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As her relationship with the Doctor slowly develops into something a little more than friendship, Rose starts to wonder what's holding him back. But one fateful night, he confesses something that makes her realize she never had any reason to worry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crescendo

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WordsInTimeAndSpace](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsInTimeAndSpace/gifts).



> Ace!ten fic for wordsintimeandspace. I really hope you like it! This was a fun idea to explore that I never had before. I think it's definitely plausible, though. And I really and genuinely think Rose would love him and want to be with him no matter what. With or without sexy times.
> 
> As a demi person myself, I know I can't 100% relate to aces, especially sex-repulsed aces, so I wanted to put a disclaimer out there for asexuals interested in this fic, because the last thing I want to do is offend any of you or even make any of you uncomfortable in the slightest (contains spoilers):
> 
> The Doctor is asexual in this fic; Rose is not, but she is very supportive. I explore how their mismatched dynamic would work a little bit, in a way I hope is light enough to still be enjoyable for anyone. There is no sex OR pressure to have sex (promise), but there is open discussion of sex, past sexual encounters, sexual desire, and ahem... self-pleasuring.

If Rose and the Doctor never did anything physical beyond holding hands, she certainly wouldn’t complain.

Touching him was a unique experience on its own. His smooth, refreshingly cool skin constantly pulsed with a subtle current of electricity; not a painful shock, but a pleasant hum that she always assumed was tied to his telepathic abilities. It made every point of contact between them an exhilarating reminder that he was the same enigmatic stranger who reached down into that shop basement and lifted her to the stars.

This Doctor was hardly a muscular bloke, but she had learned early on that his thin frame was deceptively sturdy. In the most perilous of circumstances, the grip of broader, stronger hand in hers was so secure it felt like nothing could tear them apart. In the quieter moments, perched on a cliff’s edge at sunset or lying in deep blue grass beneath swirling galaxies, he cradled her hand in his like as though it were a fragile sculpture. And when he brushed his thumb over hers and she squeezed his palm in return, it felt like they were meant for this.

Slowly, though, the level of intimacy between them progressed to a bit more than handholding.

With each dangerous encounter, he held her more and more closely to protect her, shielded her from potential threats with his entire body when it was far from being necessary. He had no qualms about squishing their bodies together in tight hiding spots, and sometimes when he brushed his arm over just the right curves to remove her from harm’s way, she swore it was on purpose.

Hugs became more and more frequent. After a victory they’d crafted together, it was bodies colliding and an exuberant twirl of celebration, a duet of childlike laughter in each other’s arms. After a harrowing adventure fraught with casualties, it was a prolonged and crushing embrace, her face pressed into his shoulder and his arms tight around her, a gesture of comfort and a tangible reassurance they hadn’t lost one another.

Then, of course, there was the night they danced under the chandeliers and vaulted ceiling of a French ballroom. She was worried they didn’t have time for a party, and suggested they get back to the TARDIS to plan a way to save Reinette without trapping themselves in the past. But he insisted they had plenty of time to sort everything out, took her gently by the hand, and led her to the middle of the intricately tiled dance floor.

“Come on, Rose,” he crooned, lacing his fingers through hers. “Chance of a lifetime, to dance at a royal ball, isn’t it?” He smiled, and butterflies fluttered uncontrollably behind her ribs.

It was so different from when they’d danced alone under the turquoise glow of the time rotor. It was slower, calmer. With one hand firmly entwined with hers, and the other splayed on the small of her back, held her closer against his chest than he ever had before. It wasn’t about possessiveness or warding off competition; it felt like a promise that she was the only one he ever wanted this closeness with. He was still in his too-tight suit and she was still in her jeans and a t-shirt, completely aesthetically out of place surrounded by the contemporary gowns and royal regalia, but they were so enraptured by one another that they didn’t care.

His cheek brushed hers when they turned in time to the soothing tempo of the orchestra, and his forehead rested against hers as the song quieted to its final notes. She thought he was going to kiss her, without the ogling eyes of the Captain and with the Madame nowhere in sight, but he only spun her around playfully beneath his arm one last time while she giggled at the floating sensation.

“Have I still got the moves, then?” he asked as he reeled her against his chest once more, his eyes twinkling.

“Maybe a few of ‘em,” she teased, running a finger over the patterns on his tie.

No, the kissing would come later.

Not long after France, they had to pose as a mythical prince and princess to attend a royal feast. Before they could leave their guest accommodations outside the palace to attend, they had to adorn themselves with extravagant local garb, her in a deep purple frock, and him in an all-white three-piece suit with a purple tie. As soon as he caught a glimpse of her in the dress, his jaw dropped and he stammered out that she looked beautiful. Sauntering over to where she stood, he brought her hand to his lips as any gentleman would, smiling against her skin. Then he stood tall, puffed out his chest, and held out his elbow to escort her to the venue with his arm locked in hers.

The Doctor had predicted the event to be the setting of imminent disaster, where a rogue sect of Gaplakanans was planning to murder their king, and as per usual his prediction was correct. The Doctor had, of course, prevented the infraction using no fewer than 5 settings on the sonic screwdriver and several props he gathered around the dining hall, and had turned the perpetrators into local law enforcement. But in spite of the debacle that followed, the kiss on her hand made her reminiscence on the trip with nothing but fondness.

The next kiss was not nearly as romantic. She caught a nasty bug that (of course) Gallifreyans were immune to, on a planet she couldn’t remember the name of far into the future of the human race. In the interim between administering his advanced antiviral medications and when they actually started to reduce her symptoms, he stayed in bed with her the entire night. And even though she knew must have an arsenal of a thousand different ways to take her temperature in the medical bay, a soft press of his lips to her forehead was the way he insisted on checking her fever every time.

One afternoon, he had nearly lost her to a hostile Cthullian bargaining for his escape with a laser gun to her head, and though he lifted her into his arms for a prolonged, spinning hug, it wasn’t enough for him. He set her back down on the grating of the console room, squeezed her against him, and craned his neck to press his lips to her temple, a cool, gentle sensation that lingered on her skin and spread warmth across her cheeks. She couldn’t stop touching her fingertips to that spot on her temple until long after they’d said goodnight.

One lazy Saturday evening, they spent hours lying sprawled on the furry rug in the library together, though their attention was only on their respective books about ten percent of the time. They exchanged titles of their favorite books (he’d read all of hers, and she’d never heard of most of his), shared their most embarrassing moments from before they met, and played a rather lengthy game of ‘would you rather’.

By the end of the night, they were mere inches away from one another on the single couch, the pretense of reading long since abandoned, and he was quietly brainstorming ideas of where they should visit the next day. There were red mountains and six-winged birds and hundred-foot tall ice sculptures to choose from, but the sound of his voice and his magical descriptions were soothing her straight to sleep.

“I think I’ve got to go to sleep,” she mumbled, eyes closed.

“Don’t sleep yet.” He tugged on the front of her shirt lightly. “Stay.”

“”Kay, okay, ’ll stay,” she slurred. But she didn’t stir from her place snuggled up next to him, nor did her eyes open.

He went on more about the asteroid cluster he was most enthusiastic about visiting in a low whisper, but Rose hardly understood any of it. Eventually, his soft rambling about potential adventures for the morning faded out entirely, but before she succumbed to sleep completely, his lips touched her cheek just shy of her mouth.

“Goodnight, Rose.” To her tired ears, it sounded like a serenade. A pleasant, buzzing warmth lingered on her cheek as she drifted off into dreams.

It was a night they were both in a bit of a somber mood. She was standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, fiddling with the spoon in her nightly cup of lavender and chamomile tea. Calming though the steaming drink usually was, she was too keyed up to completely relax tonight. Something about getting your face stolen would do that, she supposed. But the echo of the bluish image on the screen wouldn’t stop playing in her head – _hungry!!! –_ and she couldn’t shake the memories of being trapped incorporeally in a claustrophobic box.

The Doctor was seated at the table, mostly silent as well, sipping occasionally from his own cuppa, occasionally filling her in on some details of how he defeated the Wire in a subdued voice. Most of what he did say, however, she missed, too lost in her own troubled thoughts.

“Rose?”

Her head snapped up to look at him; he had raised his voice. How many times had he called her name? She flushed with remorse that she’d been ignoring him, even if that was not at all her intention.

“You all right?” he rushed out, his eyes anxious.

“Yeah, ‘m sorry, was just… thinkin’.” She turned her gaze back to her tea. “What were you sayin’?”

He stood from his chair with a screech against the floor, leaving his mug behind on the table, and her eyes were glued to him as he approached. He looked more concerned with each measured step, eyebrows pulled together and the corner of his mouth pulling down; he must’ve seen the distress in the train of her thoughts. Finally dragging his trainers to a stop directly in front of her, he took her mug out of her hands gently and set it somewhere behind her. She gulped as she met his eyes. They were focused on hers, begging her undivided attention without words, and rubbed his hands soothingly up and down her arms.

“Sure you’re okay?” he whispered.

“Yeah, was just… scary, that’s all. ‘S nothing, I’ll get over it.” She dropped her gaze, staring down at the buttons on his suit for someplace to look besides those mesmerizing brown depths that would only make her want to snog the life out of him.

Nothing had happened, really. He’d rescued her, and there were no physical injuries to speak of. She shouldn’t be whining to him.

“I was scared, too,” he breathed, surprising her enough that she let out a tiny gasp. He brushed a stray lock of hair back behind her ear, and the way his fingers stroked across her cheek kindled warmth just behind her skin and lit a fire deep in her chest. His proximity was making her head spin, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold onto her self-restraint after such a traumatic day.

Touching two fingertips underneath her chin, he silently entreated her to look at him, and she did.

“Scared I might never see these eyes again.” She chuckled halfheartedly, and, still trying her best not to meet his gaze directly, admired the curve of his lips (which she knew was probably a huge mistake but couldn’t stop staring once she’d started). A hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“And very,” he paused, inhaling a deep breath though his nose as he lifted his thumb to brush it gently over her bottom lip, “very scared I’d never be able to do this.”

Before she could even begin to feel queasy from nerves or lightheaded from anticipation, or even slightly prepare herself for what may be about to happen, he looped his arm around her waist and kissed her. It was feather-light and gentle as though he was afraid of breaking her; his lips hesitant and still as thought it was the first kiss of his life, rather than just the first with a new partner. He lingered there for a moment, testing the way their lips fit together, cool against warm, sugary tea meeting dry lip gloss. She melted beneath him, and her heart thudded in her chest but she felt calmer and more relaxed than she had for weeks. It was far too soon that he pulled away, separating their mouths quietly.

Her eyelids fluttered open slowly (when had she closed them?) and she stared into his dark eyes in disbelief, hardly able to breathe, much less speak.

“Is this all right?” he murmured softly, still very close to her lips.

“Yeah,” was all she was able to breathe out. She couldn’t find the response she wanted in her brain – that it was more than all right and she’d very much like to kiss him the rest of the night, and every night thereafter.

He nuzzled his nose against hers, his cheeks lifting with a delighted smile before he brought his lips back to hers.

They didn’t kiss for the _entire_ rest of the night, but they did share several more before he wished her goodnight at her door. She spun around her room floating on clouds before she collapsed into her pillows, lighter than air and intoxicated with first-time kisses, smile stretching from ear to ear. The face-stealing alien didn’t plague her mind again.

As wonderful as properly kissing him was, by the following morning she had started to question his motives. It wasn’t that kissing him wasn’t everything she’d wanted for months. Or that she hadn’t thought about it every day they’ve been together since he’d regenerated. But the suddenness of it, combined with the fact that he didn’t invite himself into her room that night, and that they didn’t discuss it afterward – it all made her wonder why he did it in the first place, and why now. (And wonder whether he was even planning on doing it again.) By the time she trudged down the hall for tea and breakfast, she was halfway prepared for him to have ignored the lightning strike between them the night before and carry on like they always had.

But he surprised her by acting neither aloof nor rushed as he typically would when he wanted to avoid something tense between them. He was as affectionate and flirtatious as always, like nothing had changed at all.

And later that day, he kissed her again.

And as the days went on, he continued to kiss her.

It wasn’t as frequent as she’d like – maybe once per trip, when she’d said something brilliant that helped him solve a puzzle or avert disaster, or after they’d saved one another from a grisly fate. Every once in a while, he kissed her on the TARDIS, too, while they were watching a film or working on a puzzle together, or while she was baking sweets in the kitchen.

She was, of course, more than happy to indulge his new habit.

But she didn’t want to risk losing this new mutually enjoyable activity by asking him what it meant, or pining for more.

It took him long enough to finally kiss her. She wasn’t sure, before, if he even had any interest in it, or if his species even… did that, or if it was too messy and human for him. She was questioning that much less now, but dreaded to think how long it would be before they took another step forward. But then again, nothing about their relationship was very conventional, and she quite liked it that way.

His kisses lasted longer and became more immersive as time went on. His tongue peeked out for a taste of her, his hands caressed up and down her back and pulled her tightly against him, his fingers massaged her scalp through tresses of her hair. And as the intimacy of these moments was heightened, he started to choose more secluded places to shower her with affection.

Beyond that, though, it didn’t escalate much.

But though she was often fighting the urge to push him against the nearest hard surface and create some friction, he never seemed to show the same symptoms of urgency. He never got handsy and grabbed her arse, never became short of breath with arousal, never pressed an erection against her stomach after they’d been kissing for a few minutes. It was markedly different than any other bloke she’d been with, and she wasn’t sure what to make of it.

Trusting that he would allow things to progress when he was ready, she went along with what he would allow. Kissing him was nothing short of divine, after all.

He started sleeping with her, after Krop Tor. Not _that_ kind of sleeping, but sharing a bed. Those few days were too traumatic for either of them to sleep alone for a couple of weeks, and neither of them could quite break the habit of curling up warm and safe under the same set of blankets together, even after they had fully recovered. They didn’t exactly cuddle, but he lay close enough to her that she could hear his slow, faint breaths every few seconds, and could feel the subtle, not-quite-human heat radiating from his body. That he could wrap his arm around her in the middle of the night if he wanted. And truth be told, most mornings she woke up in his arms, listening to his double heartbeat beneath her ear, even though he was almost always already (or still) awake by the time she was.

It was wonderfully flattering, because she knew he didn’t need nearly as much sleep as she did. For most of her time aboard the TARDIS, he had used the time she was unconscious to do other things. Usually, things that he enjoyed doing or was obligated to do (like routine time ship maintenance) that she wasn’t interested in. The thought that he would give up that time to be close to her meant the world to her, so for a while it never even crossed her mind to ask him for anything more. He was already giving her so much that she never thought he would.

Late one night, though, after they had both narrowly escaped being swallowed by the Void intended for the Daleks, circumstances changed.

They were kissing on his bed (which was a rare combination of activities, in and of itself – they usually slept in hers, and usually only had the chastest of kisses in it, because he was careful to keep most of the snogging to other locations), and adrenaline was still rushing through her system from everything that had happened that day.

He kissed her gently, with slow and focused movements of his lips over hers like he was trying to memorize their shape and taste, but anchored her against him with one hand firm on her jaw and another between her shoulder blades, like at any moment someone would try to take her away from him.

Really, he wasn’t doing anything inherently erotic, not kissing her neck or moaning or using his tongue, but he didn’t have to for it to affect her all the same. Earlier today, she had been certain she was facing down her death in that basement with the Daleks. She thought she was losing him forever when he sent her back to the parallel world the first time. She’d said goodbye to her family and only remaining friend to stay with him, and just for now, just for tonight, she wanted to lose herself in him. Everything inside of her was begging her to, to make the first move where he clearly wouldn’t. Her body responded to every touch in the extreme, and for once she didn’t think it was entirely her fault.

The taut wire of tension inside of her that couldn’t be pulled any farther finally snapped under the strain, and she felt like she was about to explode.

All the courage she needed was the sheer amount of hormones rushing through her system, and she made her bold move. She pushed away from him gently and he relaxed his hold on her, thinking she had something to say. But she moved her mouth to his neck, leaving a trail of messy kisses down his throat and over his pulse point. He let out a small gasp, and she took it for a good sign and moved her hands to the first button of his shirt.

Before she’d gone halfway down his chest, however, his hands swiftly grabbed her wrists to still her hands.

“I, uhm… Rose…”

Oh, bollocks. She’d really mucked it up now, hadn’t she?

She rushed to apologize, pulling her hands away and leaning her body as far from his as it would go.

“I’m sorry, Doctor, was that not… I didn’t mean to… I, er...” She was stumbling over her words, panicked that her mistake would send him running and resolved never to even kiss her again.

Only silence came from him, though he had started rubbing the back of his neck and a grimace turned down his mouth. She couldn’t stand to see him so uncomfortable; it made her stomach turn sickeningly. She’d do anything to make it right.

“Doctor, I’m so sorry. We don’t have do anything you don’t want to. I can wait as long as you need. Whenever you’re ready, yeah? I understand. Really.”

“Yeah?” he asked, but something in his expression was still pained. Holding something back.

“Yes, of course.” She nodded.

“But, Rose, what if… what if I’m not ever ‘ready’?”

She swallowed hard. “H – how d’you mean?”

“What if I… well, uhm… what if I never want to do more than this,” he gestures back and forth between them, “what we’ve been doing?”

“Oh…” she fell silent at that. Heavy rejection settled in quickly, and her heart sank with it. “You don’t want me?” she asked, her voice unbearably small.

“No!” he exclaimed. “It’s not that. Of course not,” he hurried to console her, his nearest hand flailing in the air looking for a place to touch her but eventually coming to rest in his hair instead, tugging back on the roots.

“What is it, then?” she asked, wishing she didn’t have to, that she just understood.

“It’s, uhm…”

What could it possibly be that he couldn’t tell her about? Could it be that bad? Was he about to confess something he found unattractive about her? Or maybe tell her that humans are too inferior for intimate relations with Time Lords after all?

“Just spit it out, Doctor,” she demanded, a touch of impatience coloring her tone. He cleared his throat.

“I don’t… feel… attraction… sex-ually, I mean, to… anyone,” he enunciated slowly, pausing between each word to choose the right phrasing.

She remembered when this all started, all the new kinds of touching and kissing, she had mused on that possibility for a brief time, that maybe he didn’t do the sex thing. But she hadn’t thought about it since he’d initiated all the new steps of intimacy they’d taken together.

She tried to conceal her shock and stay receptive, staying quiet rather than trying to form coherent thoughts about something she didn’t yet fully understand. Anything she said would likely be the wrong thing, something that would cross a line or offend him, and she would rather he continued without her interrupting such a difficult confession. She told him to continue with a small nod, rather than her lips.

“I’ve got all the right equipment for it,” he chuckled humorlessly, trying to get her to smile, but it didn’t work as she was too impatient to hear the rest. His eyes widened when she didn’t respond at all, and he rushed to continue. “But it’s, uhm, common where I’m from to have no desire for sex. With anyone,” he added quickly. “Even someone you… care for.”

“So does… does that mean you’ve never done it?”

Blimey, of all the things she could’ve asked him first, she chose that. Talk about an invasion of privacy. She was about to recall the question and apologize again for being so unbelievably rude, but he decided to answer.

“I have.” He swallowed, and looked over her head, someplace at the wall behind her, as his eyes glazed over with memories. “I was young and rebellious. Wanted to try things. But it was never good for me, I always felt awkward and ashamed afterwards, regardless of how close with the person I was before. And, more often than not, I felt like I’d been used. Even if it was my idea.”

She had felt that before, awkward and ashamed and used leaving a bloke’s apartment. She could only imagine what it’d be like to live with that every time she had sex with anyone. More than anything, she wanted to protect him from that now, to ensure he never had to feel that way again. If she could, she’d go back in time and tell him he was perfect the way he was, before he ever put himself in a situation that would make him feel broken and hurt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, taking the hand closest to her and rubbing her thumb over his palm, trying to offer him some measure of comfort.

“I suppose I was just hoping that…” he hesitated, contorting his mouth to hold back the words for a moment. “I was hoping you wouldn’t expect that from me. Or that it’d never get that far. But I dunno what I was thinking, you’re human. You’re a great, big melting pot of hormones, of course you –”

“Stop,” she commanded, bringing their linked hands up and over his mouth. “I _don’t_ need that, okay? And I definitely do not expect it from you.”

“But –”

“I just didn’t know where you stood on the two of us, and thought… I dunno, maybe you were nervous or something. I had the wrong impression ‘s all, okay? “

“I… all right,” he conceded, but something about his expression was still unsettled, unresolved.

“Has… has anything we’ve done been too much for you?” she asked, fearing that he was hedging because the damage had already been done.

“Until tonight, never,” he reassured her, squeezing their linked hands. “Promise.” A little weight was lifted off her shoulders.

“So, then.” She chose her words carefully. “What’s okay for you? Or I mean, for us.”

“Well,” he drawled, lifting their hands slightly into the air. “Everything we’ve been doing. Holding hands.” He threaded his fingers between hers, and waved them back and forth above their bodies a few times. “Kissing is quite agreeable.” He brought her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to her knuckles. “And hugging. Hugging is good. And cuddling. Cuddling is _brilliant_ ,” he added, scooting his body closer to hers and nudging her knee with his.

He looked so utterly, openly excited about the prospect of continuing to do all those things that her heart bloomed in her chest. How long must he have been hiding this on purpose, afraid of how she’d react? Now that he’d been forced to tell her because of the situation she’d put him in, given her that piece of himself and offered her even more detail than she had the right to ask for, she had to make things right. To make sure he knew that everything was okay between them, no matter what. That his lack of sexual desire was not going to change the way she felt about him, or her promise to stay with him forever. That it never could.

“I’m definitely okay with that.” She smiled. “I’m really glad you told me the truth.”

“Yeah?” he beamed.

“Yes.”

He brought his mouth back to hers, planting several short, wet kisses on her lips in rapid succession. She laughed into his mouth when he wouldn’t stop.

But the heat flaring between her legs and the tugging sensation deep in her belly returned with potency that couldn’t be ignored, now that the tension had dissipated and his lips were touching hers again.

Yeah, that was going to be a problem.

A bit too suddenly, she put some more distance between their bodies, and more importantly their mouths, before stuttering out a few ‘ums’ as she tried to formulate the right phrasing to explain her dilemma that wouldn’t offend him or make herself seem like a complete pervert.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, and it was obvious in his eyes that he was already afraid she’d changed her mind.

“It’s just… if this is gonna work, I’m gonna need some, well… time to myself sometimes.” She tried to put just the right inflection on the last four words so that he would understand, and she wouldn’t have to explain further.

“Yeah, I suppose I… that makes sense.” He hung his head, and his hand loosened its grip on hers until he pulled away and it fell to her side completely. Blimey. Cocked it up again. Okay so, he didn’t want to know about that. She should’ve known that, really.

“Do you feel like we spend too much time together?” he asked, his voice despondent.

Oh.

“I can definitely give you more space,” he offered. She mentally backpedaled. He definitely missed the suggestive intonation she delivered her line with, then. “I can find things to work on around the TARDIS or even take trips by myself anytime you want… actually, I’ll just leave now, it’s no problem.” He started to roll away, rambling about personal space, but she grabbed him by a fistful of his shirt.

“Don’t go,” she pleaded. “Please. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” he asked, turning back to face her, his eyes burning with anxious curiosity as they bored into hers. Like whatever she said could make or break their relationship.

“When we’re… together…” She exhaled heavily and worried her bottom lip.

“Yes?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“That is, when we’re… touching, or kissing, sometimes I start to feel…” She wanted so badly to stop there, to not have to finish that sentence, but the look on his face was still so confused, like he had no clue how that sentence was going to end. She knew he was completely clueless and she had no choice. “Turned on,” she muttered.

“What?” he chirped, but not in the tone that meant he didn’t hear her. She knew the difference between the types of Doctor ‘what’s, and this one just meant he needed her to elaborate. A lot.

“I don’t want to put myself in a situation where I’ll start losing control. Well, I especially don’t want to put you in that situation.”

He was silent for a moment, eyebrows pulling together and bottom lip pouting out as the gears turned in his head.

“OH!” The single syllable loudly interrupted the unbearable silence. “Oh, oh, oh… oh,” he repeated it several times, enlightenment slowly dawning on his face until all the confusion and doubt left his face and happy crinkles appeared around his eyes. “Of course, uhm…” he tugged on his ear as he cracked a smile and, though he tried feebly to hold it back, he started to giggle. “Sure, Rose, anytime you…. Need.” A pink blush crept up his cheeks as he fought to hold back more laughter.

She smacked his arm playfully, but couldn’t resist giggling with him. It was too ridiculous and embarrassing a situation not to try to lighten it with a laugh.

“You need some time right now?” he asked, his grin widening further as he nodded to the en suite.

She put a hand over her eyes and crashed back onto her pillow, cheeks heating up beneath her hand. She couldn’t believe how the tables had turned, that now she was the weird one and the joke was on her.

“Go on,” he teased, nudging her calf with his foot. “I don’t mind.”

She sighed heavily. Of course she needed some time right now. She was hotter and heavier than she had been in weeks, and just looking at him made her want to tear his clothes off and devour him whole. And thoughts like that were definitely not conducive to a supportive atmosphere between them.

“I don’t,” she lied. She felt far too self-conscious to go now, with it out in the open between them now, the spotlight on her with nothing else to lure it away.

“Rose,” he pleaded. She didn’t look at him.

“Rooooooose,” he practically sang, tugging at her arm.

She dropped her arm, looking over at him with fabricated annoyance.

“Wha’?” she pouted.

“I want to cuddle with you tonight. Can you do that right now?”

Oh, that cheeky sod.

She groaned and rolled off the bed, heading for the door to the en suite, and he shuffled on the bed behind her.

When she turned around, he was laying in the center of the bed, propped comfortably against the headboard, tapping his feet restlessly on the duvet, a charming, if conceited, smile lighting up his face.

“What?” he asked when she didn’t smile back at him.

“Stop lookin’ at me like that! I’m sorry, okay?”

“I’m not!” He started laughing, such a beautiful and carefree sound. He looked so happy. Happier than he ever had, she waged. “I really don’t care. It’s just biology, it’s natural. Well,” he added, tilting his head to the side. “For some people.”

“Okay, just…” She closed her eyes and tried to erase those words from her mind immediately, ‘it’s just biology’, because she’d never be able to take care of anything in a clinical mindset like that. Or even thinking about the Doctor scientifically analyzing her sex drive. “Don’t think about it. Don’t think about me.”

“How am I supposed to not think about you?” he asked, like it was the most unreasonable request he’d ever heard.

“Well, don’t think about what I’m doing.”

“I definitely will not think about that,” he promised, shaking his head resolutely.

She burst out laughing at how serious he sounded when he said it. He joined her, of course, and she couldn’t possibly still feel self-conscious when he seemed so okay with it, so she just marched into the en suite and flipped the light switch.

“I’ll be here when you get back,” he called behind her.

He was.

And as soon as she clambered back onto the bed, he kissed her soundly for several minutes, smiling against her lips at the chemicals he must have tasted in her mouth, and something finally clicked into place in her mind. Being this connected to him, sharing in the most physically intimate activity that he was comfortable with, or that would ever want with _anyone_ , was all she had ever wanted. It was never about sex; it was only about him finally tearing down the last of his barriers and allowing himself to be close to her. And his uncharacteristic honesty tonight had shown her how ready he was to do that.

Once they were both finally under the covers and he was spooned up behind her, he nuzzled her neck and pulled her snug against his body, soft curves molding to his long, lean build. She entwined their fingers together and they sighed sleepily in unison, perfectly content.

“I…” She hesitated, wondering whether she should say the words. But after everything she gave up to be with him today, she thought it was impossible that he didn’t already know. And after everything he’d shared with her tonight, she wanted the one thing she was still holding back from him out in the open, too. “I love you.” She squeezed his hand.

He hummed against her skin, and after a beat, breathed, “Quite right, too.”

She elbowed him in the ribs.

“Oh, Rose,” he groaned, shifting to press a kiss to the side of her neck. “I’ve always loved you.”


End file.
